Beyond the Spiring Towers
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: Their love assured, Killian and Emma are parted by his desire to prove himself worthy, until a new and familiar threat sends them into far more dangerous territory than either had ever imagined... (Sequel to 'Under the Crimson Flag')
1. Prologue

The damp was so invasive, it had taken residence in Killian's bones and he almost doubted he would ever be warm again. Rough sandstone walls seeped moisture from their large pores: water ran down in rivulets - like the cell was crying over its own fate: stuck in this dark, dank hole below ground.

His eyes had adjusted to the lack of light soon enough. The guard who had thrown him into this hell hole had tossed down the worn end of a candle and a soggy box of matches. When he'd finally got a spark to burn, he'd looked around at his prison.

About ten feet square, the floor was a seeping mess of mud and old, rotten straw. The hatch was at least ten feet above him, made of solid oak and bolted, he knew, on the other side by a heavy, iron lock, whose key hung on his jailer's belt.

Satisfied that for the moment he was securely detained, he snuffed out the candle with his hook and lay back against the wall.

It wasn't the worse place he had found himself, that was for sure. He was confident that once his letter of safe passage from King David was verified he would soon be on his way. When he had turned up in King Alasdair's kingdom, he had anticipated some problems.

The dear regent seemed under the impression that he had deflowered his youngest daughter.

Yes, he had gotten her tipsy on wine and snuck back into her bedchamber. Yes, he had kissed her (and maybe a little more-) but her chastity was intact when he had left with a stolen key to her father's study. Killian knew the king kept a chest of gold in his private office, and it was far easier to break into than the royal treasury. One of his easier thefts. A pirate did not limit himself to sea based crime when such easy spoils present themselves.

But when he had arrived with the mostly intact chest of coins in tow and the letter tucked in his jacket, he had made no more than a dozen steps inside the castle gates when he was dragged to the ground and carted off to his current home.

He closed his eyes, deciding some sleep would be advisable. It was a good half day trek back to the where the ship was docked and Smee and his crew were taking shore leave, ready to set sail as soon as he returned.

The past few months had not passed without incident and he knew he had to keep the men onside if he were to complete his plans.

When he had told the newly assembled crew of the purpose of their journey, he had been met with some disbelief. Smee had frowned and cursed beneath his breath and the other men and muttered among themselves until he had assured them of a handsome payment for their time - even he could not sail a ship alone. They'd still eyed him warily as they left the port for the open seas; their suspicions eased a little by the payment of regular wages, but he knew how to handle them (and Smee, loyal as ever, easily came round after a rum fuelled night on their first, brief furlough).

Setting sail, he had plotted a journey to return the most significant items he still possessed, settle a few old scores and collect some treasures he had hidden away for a difficult day. He knew the men thought him mad. Not that he cared. For the first time in so long, he had found something to hold onto. Love. _Emma._

If he were truthful, he still was uncertain with how matters would unfold when he had returned. He knew he had to make some amends for his past deeds. And if he were honest, his time pirating had almost turned into some kind of surreal blur. It had been something he had tumbled into and was deep within before he knew it. He had become a man on the Jolly. He'd never been given a chance to be something else: but here that chance now presented itself, and now he grabbed it eagerly

Still, he pondered how such genteel people as from which Emma came would accept him. He had lain awake at night and ran scenarios for their future through his mind - where would they live? What path would their union take - could they even consider marriage?

He knew not the answers to these troublesome questions. But he knew he loved her and he had to try his best to be worthy.

_**a/n: Thoughts?**_


	2. The Die is Cast

**Finally I found my muse! I hope you enjoy this and are ready for the ride!**

It had descended quickly, the ache of separation. Beginning as a strange, incongruous feeling in the pit of her stomach, the sensation of loss became more keenly felt with every passing hour. Once they had been apart for the duration of a week's length, there was little that could give solace to the pain in her heart. A hollow, unsettled feeling had crept over her, only eased a little by his infrequent letters: always rushed affairs sent during his limited time in populated ports, always cherished and poured over, before being kept in a small wooden writing box that lay on her bedroom bureau.

It was strange, this longing. Even as she slipped back into familiar palace routines, it hung around her, a dense cloud of melancholy flavoring her days. Her smiles did not often reach her eyes nor did her cheerful greetings reach her heart.

Still, even without him, she was stronger and more resilient than ever. The experiences of the previous months had made her wiser to the ways of the world and determined to live an honorable life that mattered; to lead her kingdom one day as best she could. For she had realized that honor and duty gave a life substance, as much as much as love and family gave it purpose. But she couldn't deny the future she saw was with him by her side.

She ached to touch him, to hear his voice or even to just catch a glimpse of his face. Yet cruelly, she had no likeness of him: no painting or drawing to look over. But the memories imprinted on her mind - of his expression when he spoke of his love for her and the ardor of his words as he promised to prove himself - made her heart ache in sorrow and swell in happiness in equal measure.

They belonged, she realized; two uneven halves of a strange whole, thrown together by chance, bonded by an unexpected love, their pasts as different as can be.

But now the past no longer mattered, only the future.

And her future was him, as she was his.

/

"We must act with haste," the queen sighed as she paced the floor of King David's library. Her quick footsteps echoed harshly against the silence of the room: the air thick with tension.

Emma and her father sat in front of the glowing embers of the fire, both somewhat lost in thought. She watched quietly as the last few flames licked against the charred wooden logs, still reeling from the package they had received an hour earlier.

"Can we be certain it is from this pirate? Emma said that he died…"

"We thought he died," Snow retorted as she paced towards the pair, "The pirate strangled him, his ship was aflame…"

The queen sank to sit on the armchair nearest the fire. Emma, still bristling from her mother's referral to Killian as 'the pirate', folded her arms tighter around her waist. Her parents had been bickering over what to do for the past hour. Once both ladies had collected themselves from the shock of the unexpected 'gift', they had made haste to the king's library, both blindly hoping he could provide some much needed advice.

The bloodied carcass of the swan lay in front of father and daughter, the pure white feathers of the bird streaked with berry-colored blood where the dagger had pierced its flesh. They had not removed the blade yet, cautious of any other traps that the pirate may have left, the chest it was delivered in had been carried carefully and left mostly undisturbed. If the obvious wounds were ignored, the animal looked almost peaceful, nestled against the hay in which it was packed. As a sign, it was indeed an effective one.

Emma had felt almost invisible since she had entered the library. Her mother had explained the situation, dismissing her attempts at adding further details. Frustration burned inside her. Still she was being treated as a child. Taking a deep breath, she tried to still those feelings by pressing her short nails into her palms whilst clenching her fists. Slowly she stood and walked closer to the fire, feeling a sudden chill overcome her.

After a moment, she noticed their voices had lowered, Emma stilled her breathing as she tried to tune in to what her parents were saying.

"How do we know he wasn't part of this? Perhaps this is a ruse to extract money? Maybe this Blackbeard and the pirate are in this to-"

Emma spun on her heels and faced her parents, "His name is _Killian,_ and how dare you accuse him of such things? After all he has done for us?" Her voice was shaking, "We both saw what happened Mother, both of us were on the deck of that ship. Blackbeard was unconscious, we watched the vessel burn…"

Soft sobs that she had been holding back suddenly rose in her throat. She wasn't exactly sure why she was crying. Yes, there was an element of shock and fear - she had never really been threatened before, well, at least not in this manner, and her instinctual reaction was to become frozen with fear. Yet it was more than that. In all that had happened to her during her time on The Jolly Roger and after, she had never taken the time to let herself react fully to each moment. Each episode of violence or fear she had brushed aside as more urgent matters took precedence. But now, home, protected from the world, these memories were vivid, giving lucidity to her nightmares: the ones she had when not dreaming of him.

Him. _Killian._

Hearing her parents suggest that he could betray them - _her _\- so easily for such a reason as gold and riches pierced her heart: the place where she held him close. Where she kept her love waiting. Counting the days until he returned.

"Emma, I-" her father began.

"I don't want to hear it, Father. I know how you really feel about him. What you keep hidden from me," she chuckled darkly.

"No, darling, that's not it at all," her mother tried, rising and walking towards her daughter. "We know what he means to you and-"

Emma flashed her mother a glance that halted her steps. She saw the flicker of pain that made her features crease. Their newly rekindled relationship was still fragile and emerging; neither wanted to halt that process so the two warily eyed each other as the king moved to stand between them.

"Right now, we need to remain united. I'm sorry for what I said - I just feel we need to explore every avenue. Perhaps this is not even of the pirate's doing - perhaps someone with knowledge of our situation is playing some kind of trick."

"But who would so such a thing?" Emma wrung her hands before grabbing the brass fire poker and jostling the dying embers, taking out her frustration and causing charred flakes of wood to cling to the bottom of her skirts. "And who knows of our dealings with him? Aside from ourselves and Killian, the numbers are few and I cannot see any of those having the means or inclination to engage in such things."

Using the point of the poker, she stabbed the tip through a large chunk of wood. Shattering open, it revealed the glowing embers inside, orange and red, merging and shifting beneath the surface. Just like she, the hardened shell hid a complex picture - intense and imperceptible to the naked eye.

"I agree it does seem unlikely, Emma," her mother soothed, running her palm along Emma's silk covered arm. She flinched at first, before softening to the mothering touch. It was still a foreign sensation; though one she craved with greater frequency.

"We need to find him."

"Who?" the king asked, his eyes lingering on the slaughtered swan, his face paling a little at the sight.

"Killian," Emma whispered, "He knows Blackbeard. How he operates, where he hides… With him, we can discover this man and end this situation before it has begun."

"Let us not be hasty," her father replied, joining the pair at the fireplace, "Right now the safest place for you is the castle. I will increase the guards, assign you a private attachment. We will restrict you and your mother to the keep while we investigate matters further."

Emma hung the poker back on the small stand from which she took it. Reaching down, she brushed away some of the ashes. They smeared against the silk, leaving charcoal colored smudges.

"And so I just hide? How long for? A week? A month? A _year_?"

With every word her voice became louder. She was angry. At Blackbeard for threatening her. At her father for suggesting she was some damsel in distress.

And perhaps, a little at Killian for leaving her.

"Emma, your father is right. We need to be cautious. I can't risk losing you again."

"You didn't seem to find it so hard last time," she retorted, immediately regretting her words as her mother's mouth pursed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Snow raised her hand as if to brush of her concern, "You are anxious, and I understand that. But we are royalty and we have procedures and things to think of that make snap reactions unwise."

Straightening her back, the princess reluctantly nodded.

Instinct had taught her to fight back. Being away from the royal court had allowed her to develop and form her own ideas. From necessity or invention, she had learned to think beyond the laws and constraints in which she had grown up. And it had changed her, materially, into something more than a sheltered princess. It had made her want greater charge of her own destiny.

"Fine. I will agree to your conditions, if you will accept one of my own. You will send two of your personal guard to the pirate port, Langston. They will make discreet enquiries as to the fate of his ship and report back."

Nodding, the king gave his daughter a small smile. "That seems a wise course of action."

Emma stalked over to the crate, picking up the lid she slammed it shut. The point had been made, the die cast. She no longer needed to see Blackbeard's message.

"And I will send for Killian. We need him."

_I need him, _her heart echoed.

"If that's what you want, it will be done with haste."

Closing her eyes, Emma turned to sit again. The remaining energy seemed to seep from her, leaving her bone tired and dizzy.

A moment later, her mother sat down too, taking her hands within her own and pressing a warm kiss against her flushed cheek. "Fear not my love, we will get to the bottom of this."

And Emma didn't doubt that they would, she just feared it may come too late.

/

A week passed by uneventfully.

There were books to read, meetings to be held, routines to follow. Emma found the restrictions to be less imposing than she had imagined. In fact, she was almost able to forget why she was not to leave the thick curtain wall of the castle. Almost.

Visiting her horse, Honey, was some solace. Slipping on breeches and helping the stable hands muck out and feed the animals was one of the most freeing experiences she was able to indulge in. It was almost like being back at sea. Almost.

Recently she had found herself missing the cool, salty air and the freedom of being within an expanse of ocean, with no end in sight. She hadn't expected to pine for her life at sea, well, at least not so much.

Riding Honey around the perimeter of the wall was at least a little exercise for them both. She had made acquaintance with most of the guards, making time to learn their names and little bits about their personal lives from their conversations. Previously, it had never occurred to her to do such a thing, but living without the decorum of court life had taught her the value of such relationships.

There was, indeed, another element to her daily rides. She had been careful to time them differently each day. As she rode, she noted the patterns of deployment along the gates and towers - the times of shift changes, the guards who were most amenable to her. She wasn't, perhaps, entirely aware of this, happening as it was in the recesses of her mind. But there it was, ticking away, collating information.

On this day, dusk was already approaching as she returned to the stables. Swinging from the saddle, she handed the reins to a stablehand and gave Honey's glossy mane a rub.

"Emma, I've been looking for you."

She smiled when she saw her father approach. He still looked so youthful, despite being about to enter his sixth decade. His thick hair still held its golden hue that she had inherited and his wide set shoulders were strong and imposing; he still practiced with the sword every day.

"Father," he stopped and she kissed his cheek lightly, "What can I do for you?"

"A walk?" he asked.

Nodding, she looped her arm in his outstretched one, tugging off her riding gloves as they headed in the direction of the north garden.

The air was sweet with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. This had always been a favorite place of hers growing up, with its hanging vines and small sculptures hidden amongst the plants.

"Have you had a good day?"

Her question was light and carefree, though she was hoping the true reason for his seeking her out would have more substance.

"Somewhat," he began, gesturing to a stone bench where they could watch the sun setting over the castle wall, "I actually received a letter."

There was a thud in her chest as her stomach dropped.

Killian?

Blackbeard?

"Oh," she swallowed, sitting gingerly while toying with her gloves.

"It was Anya's father, he is demanding resolution to our…_situation_."

"Oh," Emma sighed, disappointed, but also perhaps a little relieved. In fact, over the past week she had forgotten the fact that her father was still technically married to two women. "And?" she asked.

"And…" he began, running his palm over his chin, "He is right. The matter has lingered for too long."

"What do the scholars say?"

"They are not in agreement. A first marriage always stands under our laws, unless the spouse has been missing for five years or more."

"And Mother was gone for longer…" she whispered, feeling a knot of something painful in her gut.

"Yes," he nodded, "But what complicates matters is that royal marriage is governed not by common law, but more ancient decree."

"And?" she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

"And there is no reference to such a situation in the old scrolls. The closest we have been able to find was from over two hundred years ago, where a duke was tricked into marrying twice when plied with fire wine."

"Which would make him a bigamist, surely!"

"The passage relating the outcome was a little damaged, but as far as can be seen, neither woman was willing to give up their claim to him and they lived together as a trio at his estate."

Gasping, Emma swung her head to look at her father, "You are not suggesting-"

"No!" he cried, before lowering his voice, "Of course not. But I think it means that the decision lies with me."

"Surely it's not much of a decision to make-" she began, balling the leather gloves in her fists to release a little of the tension growing between her shoulders.

"It's complicated. I made a vow - twice. I stand by my vows."

"You made it to my mother first," Emma replied, squinting a little as the sun reached the edge of the wall. The light became blinding, splintering out into a starburst of rays as the world around it became black.

"It's complicated," he repeated.

"So you brought me here to tell me what - that you have already chosen? That my mother is to be turned out? Forgotten? Shunned-"

He grabbed her arm and she started, looking up into his mirror image eyes, the same green shade as her own.

"I will always - always - love your mother…"

"But not enough," Emma whispered, shrugging out of his embrace to stand. "I'm cold Father, I must retire to my chambers."

With quick steps, she vaulted towards the wooden door that led into the keep. Behind her she could hear the king calling out her name. But she ignored him and continued.

She wasn't ready to hear him say the words she dreaded. She feared her reaction when her ideal of love was shattered before her eyes. Yes, a faulted ideal it was, but still, it gave her hope that two parted loves could be reunited.

She would think about this later.

Yes, later.

/

There was a clatter. It sounded like a metal dish landing on a stone floor.

Her fingers wrapped around the small dagger she had taken to keeping beneath her pillow, withdrawing it and holding it aloft as she turned the dial of her lamp and adjusted her eyes to the small amount of illumination.

She slipped her feet to the floor. They were bare and the stone was cold when she reached the edge of the woolen rug that ran under her bed. Her shift had slipped over her shoulder and she tugged it higher, the bite of coolness in the air making her shiver.

"Hello?" she called out.

There was no response.

Edging her way towards the door that led to the antechamber, she held her breath. There was always a guard at her door. The night was still and quiet, he should be able to hear her - and certainly to have heard the commotion that woke her.

"Hello?"

Swallowing heavily, she undid the heavy iron bolt and stepped into the vestibule. Opposite was the door to her living chamber, to her left the door to the hallway.

Silence.

Her feet made a soft patterning noise as she walked.

She tightened her fingers around the silver blade of the dagger.

"Tomkins? Walters?"

There was still no reply.

Reaching the door, she turned the key. The lock made a clunking sound as the mechanism fell into place. She paused, waiting for something to happen.

It didn't. Gingerly, she rotated the handle.

The hallway was black. The torches that lit the length of it had been snuffed out and there was the scent of singed oil in the air.

Swinging her lantern in front of her, she called out, "Hello?"; though this time with a degree less confidence than earlier.

At first she saw nothing.

The lantern was swinging and the light it gave low. She tried to twist the metal dial to increase the light, but instead it began to flicker more wildly.

A step further into the hall was accompanied by an increase in her heart rate.

Something was wrong. It was too quiet. Her guard was missing.

And then she saw it. A trickle of blood that turned into a smear - as if something had been dragged along the carpet. She picked her way carefully as she followed the trail, stepping to avoid the saturated red patches.

Then there was a foot. Twisted at an unnatural angle on the leg on which it stood, she let out a little cry, recognizing the boot as that of the army - and of her guard.

Hand shaking, she lifted the lantern closer. The body was soaked in blood. Her nose prickled at the metallic scent it left in the air. A sloppy, pink mass was spilling out onto the floor from the stomach of the victim. With horror, she realized that it was the intestines. The gut had been cut and the contents pulled out.

She pressed her arm across her nose as she raised the lamp to the face of the body. Her heart fell.

"Walters," she sobbed, bringing her free hand to her mouth as tears started to fall. He was so young. Not yet twenty. But so brave. He had already served in two campaigns for the army - her father had high hopes for him. And now…

Higher she lifted the light, until she could see the wall behind where he was slumped. At first, she thought the blood upon it was just random smears and splashes, originating from the violence of the murder. But then shapes became letters and the letter became a word. Stepping back, she grimaced.

_REVENGE._

_**Reviews make me sparkle and feed my (sometimes reluctant) muse!**_


	3. Flesh Wounds

Those lips.

She'd know them anywhere. They pressed against hers with a burning passion which caught her breath in the back of her throat-

"Killian," she murmured in a brief moment of respite. Fingers threaded through her hair and she felt the feather bed beneath her shift with his weight. "I've missed you," she cooed as she ran her hands up and around his back, clutching the rough linen of his shirt tightly, as if she were to let go, he would vanish.

Outside a storm was brewing. Rain lashed against the paned glass window of her bedroom. The sky groaned with the weight of heavy clouds, releasing low growls as streaks of lightning flashed brightly.

His lips found her neck and she rolled her head back into her pillow; every kiss burned - scorching and marking her skin. Yes, she was his. _Yes,_ she thought, _make me yours._

The yearning that had been brewing in her soul since he left, burst forth in a series of eager caresses and cries of ecstasy as he worshipped her skin, peeling back her nightgown as she scrambled with the hem of his shirt so her fingers could find his back.

She traced the scarred skin with her fingers. The wounds of his torture had healed, now standing testament to the story of their love, their beginnings-

Suddenly, brightness filled the room. Crashing thunder mingled with a flash of lightning, startling her. Her eyes opened.

And then she saw it.

Not the cornflower blue eyes of her lover. Instead, the steel grey eyes of another. Another who's black curls hung down over his shoulders as a sinister smile licked at his lips.

"Hello princess," he sneered.

_Blackbeard._

She screamed and everything went black.

/

It was a dream.

_Of course._

Her lips were dry when consciousness came forth… Darkness prevailed; the first signs of dawn were fighting through the cloud and casting a dark amber glow. Peeking through her barely open eyelids she smiled.

_It was a dream._

With a sigh, she let herself sink back into the soft feather pillows, stretching her arms wide-

Something was wrong. She couldn't move her arms.

Panic stricken, she opened her eyes once more, straining against what she could now see were lengths of cloth that held her wrists - and ankles - in place.

She went to scream, but stopped with a gasp when she felt a sharp point pressing into her neck.

"I wouldn't do that, Miss Swan."

Closing her mouth, she tried to pull back against the blade but only found it was pushed harder against her skin.

"One more move and I'll slice your throat."

The menacing tone of the voice told her it was no idle threat. She tried to look to her left, from where the voice came, but that side of the room was still steeped in blackness.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

But she knew who it was. She prayed she was wrong, but deep down she knew…

"Oh, lass, you know fine well who I am," and with that, her assailant moved to sit on the edge of her bed.

Blackbeard.

It was him: in the flesh, no longer a dream but now a living nightmare.

He had a wry smile on his face as the two inspected one another. Gone was the resplendent costume of their earlier meeting, now he was dressed head to toe in black, a bandana covering his forehead and a long, thick coat of wool covering his frame.

"Or should I call you princess?" he sneered as he leaned a little closer, the tip of the blade smarting against her skin. "And may I add, your highness, your dreams are rather vivid. Perhaps I was wrong not to make some use of you when I had the chance. I think I have been most mistaken about the bounty a pretty royal can offer a man."

Gathering her courage, she swallowed her fear, ignoring his veiled threats, and lifted her chin, looking him in the eye she retorted, "You may call me whatever you like, it does not mean I will respond."

His laughter was deep and shook her to the core, creeping inside her bones, making her quiver with dread. "You do realize there are two guards outside my quarters?"

"Never been a problem for me before, has it love?"

She bit back a sob, praying that whatever fate her guardsmen met was a swift one, whilst simultaneously trying to determine how many hours until her maids would arrive to dress her.

"Well it seems you have me at a disadvantage," she quipped, trying to maintain a facade of confidence, though feeling her grip on the situation quickly waning.

"Indeed," he nodded, using his free hand to pull down the sheet that covered her. It was then she noticed the scars - the skin of his hand was mottled and twisted, a pink and white mass of swirling tissue, his fingers gnarled and mottled, just capable of gripping the thin cotton.

"I see we left you with a souvenir."

His hand paused for a moment as his attention turned to it, before he whipped away the rest of the sheet. The skirt of her chemise was tangled above her knees, it's neckline exposing a swathe of skin where the buttons had come undone. She tried not to think about what he might do next. Tried not to imagine-

"Oh yes," he finally replied, running the blade of the dagger lightly across her throat, "Quite the reminder, don't you think?"

She nodded slightly. His lame hand rested on her leg, just below her knee. It was unnaturally cold and she shivered, wanting to crawl away…

"So I take it you are here to kill me," she announced with a nonchalance that surprised herself. Settling her jaw into a defiant stance she stared at him cooly.

"And why would I do that?" he scoffed.

Letting out an exasperated sigh Emma frowned, scrunching her features together, "Well the fact I helped burn down your ship for one, surely that merits some retaliation?"

He shrugged.

"That I almost killed you? And most of your crew? That you were humiliated, that two females and a half competent crewman were able to snatch victory from your very fingers!-"

"STOP!" he bellowed, pressing the knife closer, this time making her whimper as the tip pierced her skin until she could feel a damp trail of blood running down her neck.

"I think I have provided enough reason."

Tilting his head, he leaned in closer until she could feel his breath on her face, it was warm and cloying. He paused just as their noses were about to touch. His eyes soulless wells of black and she felt herself being dragged into their nothingness-

"Perhaps," he purred, reaching down to press a wet kiss to her lips, "But where would the fun be in that? Killing you in your bed? Quick with a blade and no witness-"

She shivered again, her stomach churning with revulsion, frozen with fear as he loomed above her.

His scarred hand began to slide up her skin and she felt her heart start to race. "Even with a little amusement beforehand-" he clenched her thigh with more strength that she though his withered muscles would allow and she gasped, tensing up as she waited, "It would be such a waste."

"Then why are you here?" she panted, trying to catch the breath that the staccato rhythm of her heart was stealing away.

"You, my dear, are a pawn in a much bigger game of chess. Why would I merely slice of the limb of the beast when my target is the heart?"

He licked his lips as she slowly understood.

"Killian," she whispered.

"Hook!" he sniped back, leaning back a little so she could see his full face again.

"And how do I figure in this game? What is my purpose other than to provide some sort of side amusement for you? If you want to find Killian, surely it is not that difficult."

But, God, she hoped it was. She hoped he was safe. She hoped he was not now perhaps already taken, in the bowels of some dungeon at the mercy of Blackbeard's men-

"You are the bait my dear. For sure I could run him through quite easily with a blade, but where would be the fun in that?"

The way he said 'fun' shot an arrow of cold fear straight to her heart. What on Earth did he have planned for her love?

He chose that moment to stand. "I don't want to kill you right now, princess, but you make one noise and I will."

She nodded in understanding, letting out a sigh of relief as he pulled away the blade and stepped back down onto the floor. She watched as he walked over to the small table below her window, upon which lay a bowl piled high with fresh fruit. "Do you mind?" he asked, cocking his head. She didn't reply as he selected a ripe looking nectarine and lay back against the window's casement as he bit into the flesh.

"You are going to help me," he explained as a trail of juice slipped down his chin. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt then took another bite. "You see, everyone has a weakness. Everyone. And for so long I've sought to discover that of our dear Captain Jones and then lo and behold you drop right into my lap!"

Emma tensed her muscles again, recoiling slightly as he attacked the fruit again, his mouth hungrily slurping away at it.

"You told me a pirate can't possibly love someone like me," she replied, thinking back to their conversation in the stateroom on the night she had spent on his ship.

Blackbeard licked his lips again as he tossed the unwanted core of fruit back into the bowl, "I can admit when I am mistaken."

He stretched out his arms, reaching them behind his head as he breathed deeply. She looked at the window - the pinkness of the dawn was gathering behind the dispensing storm clouds.

"And why would I help you?"

"Do you love your mother, _your highness_?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Your father? Even that stepmother of yours must surely hold some affection in your heart."

"You wouldn't-" she began, bearing up in the bed, tensing against her bindings.

"Of course I would," he scoffed. "But, I am a man of honour, in my own way. I have little quarrel with your family. Should you agree to acquiesce to my demands I will spare them."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because you have no choice," he replied cooly, lifting up the blade he had had pressed against her neck, flicking out his tongue to taste the drop of her blood that lingered on it's tip, "Mmmm," he moaned, "So sweet-"

She felt her heart sink to the floor.

He was not lying. He would kill her family - nay, all those in the castle - without so much as a second glance. This man was pure evil, the product of some perfect storm of malfeasance which all at once fascinated and terrified her.

"What reassurance can you offer me of your truth?"

"None but my word. But like I said, you have no choice dear. You may die now, alone, pining for your love, with the knowledge that your family is next. Or-" he paused and slammed the dagger into the wooden frame of her bed, "You may have a few more _precious _weeks, a chance to see your _love - _I may even let him hold you when you finally meet your end."

She could picture it, clear in her mind. A place, dark and dank, their bodies wrecked… But his arms were around her, whispering words of love - just as the light faded from her eyes…

Then she thought of her dear father and mother: she had brought this upon them. If they were to die at the hands of this man then it would be her fault - a consequence all caused by the choice of whom she chose to give her heart.

"Fine," she snapped, "You have your deal."

"Good!" he smiled, his somewhat crooked teeth making the full beam almost comical, if it were not for the cruel sneer that tainted the rest of his features. "Now we must discuss terms."

He walked over to her fireplace, the last embers of the night before's fire were barely glowing. He crouched down, before peeling a ring from his strong hand and tossing it into the coals. Emma watched, curious, as he stood and walked to her.

"First, you must tell no one of our plan. Certainly not your dear father and mother."

"Of course," she mumbled, the sudden understanding of what she had agreed to do dawning as the new day began to lighten the sky.

"You must continue on your little quest - track down that one handed bastard, you have his letters so it should be easy-"

"How did you know-" she interjected until he gave her a look that silenced her.

"I have people everywhere, love."

She swallowed and sat back, watching him as he took the fire poker and mixed the swirling coals around.

"Then, when you find him, you must bring him to here."

He reached in his coat and pulled out a tattered piece of paper with a set of coordinates and a name written in faded in, "Machtou Island? How am I supposed to make him go there? Surely he will see it as odd?"

"I'm sure you can be rather persuasive, if you put your mind to it."

Her cheeks burned as he looked her over, devouring her with his eyes as she pressed her thighs together, the fear that he might force himself on her appearing.

"And then?"

Blackbeard stretched out his arms, as thought they were the wings of a bird, as he looked upwards. "And then your part is played." He looked back down at her, his eyes even more cold and lifeless, "And then the fun really begins."

Cool dread began to mix with horror and resignation as she tried to imagine what horrible plans Blackbeard had in store for him. For them. But even in her fear, there was a burning ember of hope in her heart that maybe there would be some escape-

"And before you even think it, you'll not be telling Hook a thing about our deal. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Remember that."

She didn't doubt it. He had already proven just how far his sphere of influenced reached with his incursions into the castle.

"Well love," he sighed as pulled the dagger from the bed and walked back to the fireplace, "It is almost time to take my leave. Just one last thing."

She watched as he used his dagger to retrieve the ring from the fireplace. He began to move back to her, his hand dipping in his pocket and pulling out a rag which he used to wrap the ring in so that just it's carved face remained.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked as he dropped the dagger beside her and took hold of her arm, stretching it out as far as the binding would allow until he pressed the ring against her flesh, just above her elbow.

She crooned in pain, her skin hissing at the contact, a tear forming in her eye as the searing pain crept through her, barely lessening when he pulled the ring away.

"There we go," he smiled happily.

Shaking, she looked at the mark the ring had left, two circles entwined, almost eclipsing each other, as the moon would the sun. "What is that?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"That is my mark. It shows you are in my employ. Let's call it insurance."

The ring and rag were slipped in his pocket. He walked to the window side of the bed, roughly sawing through one arm's binding before pushing open the pane and tossing her the dagger. "Can't have your maids finding you like this, can we?"

She looked cautiously at the dagger as he began to crawl out of the window. "But surely they will see my guardsmen-"

"Oh, dear, they are perfectly fine. On this occasion I needed my presence to leave as little mark as possible. I will not be so kind next time."

He swung his feet over the sill. She could see already that a rope was attached.

"Remember, princess, keep your mouth shut."

And with that he winked and disappeared from view.

She lay there for a few moments, her breath shuddering as she processed what had just transpired. Reaching for the blade, she slowly released herself, untying the rest of the bindings and hiding them in the chest at the foot of her bed. Tiptoeing over to the window she searched for some sign of him, but he was gone and so was the rope that had aided him. As she closed the window she thought to herself, perhaps this was a dream, maybe I am still dreaming…

But then the newly formed scar on her arm began to sting. She looked at it, the two angry red circles, both barely the size of a fingernail and her last hope left.

Fate had dealt it's cruel hand, this time in the form of a scarred pirate with revenge in his blood.

Nausea overwhelmed her and she ran to her washbasin, vomiting quietly as the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in.

**A/N: Well, this is a long time coming. I had a plan for this after finishing Under the Crimson Flag but my muse was being very reluctant to write it. Then this chapter happened and, well, here we go! Things have taken quite the turn from what I had originally planned but I hope you will enjoy the journey I have planned for our pirate and princess.** **As always, I must give HUGE thanks to my amazing beta (and more importantly, friend) Ztofan (Nickillian on Tumblr - go follow her!) I couldn't do this without you. ** **And to all of you who followed and gave me feedback on Under the Crimson Flag I hope you also enjoy this story!**

_Plot point: I've had people ask about the status of her parents - for clarity, in this AU David was the king and married Snow who was a commoner. I had to play with cannon a little to make the story work!_


	4. Tick-Tock

**A/N: I have no real excuse for the time taken to write this chapter... Writers block played a part, along with a reluctant muse and a deep seated fear of messing this up as Crimson Flag is my favourite story that I have written and I want to love this too...**

**That said, here is it, the action is beginning to heat up and I have lots of twists and turns planned for you all!**

* * *

It was at times like these that Killian Jones would allow himself to think of his brother. Resourcefulness, fortitude and patience were the virtues with which he would describe him, if anyone asked. Liam had taught him that no situation is unsalvageable and no man should hang his head in woe at the prospect of dire straits. Indeed, he'd spent many a night in worse brigs than his current prison. Add to that the confidence that his position would soon be confirmed via diplomatic channels and he was in quite the positive mood. So, Captain Jones did as he was in the habit of, and retrieved his flask of rum.

Laying back against the damp wall, he closed his eyes and let the darkness consume him. The meager candle had spent itself some time earlier, leaving the suffocating blackness of a night where the stars were hidden by clouds. A night as oppressive as a sailor could imagine. It was impossible to navigate on such an evening and wallowing in the bottle of rum was a fine way to pass the time.

But, it seemed now that the sweet taste and drunken sensation no longer sated him as it once did. Quite the opposite. In fact, now he found his drunken dreams were always of her. Memories of her, glimpses of what the future may hold- fears that she may come to her senses and toss him aside. These were the most potent ones.

"Psst."

The stone that came hurtling into the next cell narrowly missed his face, striking against the wall with a dull clang.

"Psst."

Killian looked up. "Smee," he muttered under his breath as he saw the rotund face of his faithful first mate peeking through the now opened cell hatch. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, shoving his flask roughly back in his pocket.

"I'm here to rescue you, captain." The sailor's ruddy cheeks were rounded like plums as he gave his master a beaming smile, "Just like the old days."

Groaning, Killian stood and brushed some of the caked dirt from his trousers. This was not part of the plan. "Get out of here! What the blazes do you think you are up to?"

Killian tried to keep his voice as low as possible, not knowing how Smee had incapacitated the guardsmen.

"We got word of your predicament, me and the men, so I nicked a horse and got here as fast as I could."

Biting back the urge to berate his first mate, Killian took a deep breath. "Smee, I told you I could handle this. I have diplomatic papers! Once they are checked in the morning I will be freed and my debt to this kingdom paid."

The crewman's jaw dropped open a little and his brows pinched together. "You meant to get captured?" he asked.

Slowly the captain rubbed his overgrown stubble with his good hand, "I'd hoped to avoid it but had anticipated it all the same. And now you seek to undo the whole thing!"

"Shit, sorry Captain," Smee winced, "I hadn't thought of that. I was thinkin' of the good old days, how many brigs I've sprung you from-"

"Yes, yes," Killian hissed, "And for that I will be ever grateful, but tonight I need you to leave me in situ and get the hell out of here before you, and I, are discovered."

"Of course," his subordinate nodded, "I'll just put this back and refasten the-"

Impatient for Mr. Smee to leave and not further derail his plan, Killian snapped, "Just go!"

He made to move, but at the same instant a loud groaning sound rang out though the cell, quickly followed by the sound of scraping. Smee's face disappeared for a moment behind the hatch, quickly reappearing with a panicked look upon it.

"Sir, they're waking up!"

Killian brushed his hand through his hair. He knew that, alone, Smee had little chance of escape. He was very adept at breaking into prisons, though not so good at escaping them. Telling Smee to flee would surely result in his capture and the need for his eventual rescue. He only had a split second to think, before sighing, "Toss me the rope."

"Aye," Smee nodded, a second later tossing down a thick coil of hemp rope. Before he had time to regret his decision, Killian curled it around his waist.

"Hold tight," he ordered. With light steps, he began to climb up the steep walls, his good hand pulling his body, his hook winding up the slack as he went. A few times his feet slipped on the moss-clad walls and he cursed under his breath, tightening his grip as he reminded himself to be far more explicit in his instructions to his crew in future.

Finally, he crawled onto the stone floor, assisted by Smee, who swiftly unwound the rope and tossed it back into the cell.

With practiced ease, Killian motioned for Smee to be silent, looking around to see the bodies of two guards on the floor, one breathing deeply and looking like he was trying to sit. Gracefully, he swooped down and collected the sword of his still prone colleague, pulling Smee back into the darkest part of the room when the waking guard turned at the noise.

Gesturing with his hands, he indicated to Smee to follow him. Carefully, the two crept along the dark edge of the room. Killian had memorized its layout before his imprisonment. He counted the steps until they reached the doorway which he knew led to an ante-chamber and then onto the castle wall.

The guard was almost sitting now. He had pulled away the helmet that had offered little protection against the club that Smee wielded, and was rubbing his head. Killian nodded towards the door and Smee quickly opened it and the two slipped through into the small room beyond before finally reaching the almost freedom that the night air promised.

Sighing with relief, Killian fastened the sword to his belt. It would have made the situation infinitely worse had he had to fight them out of the castle. The two took a moment to catch their breath.

"Smee," Killian sighed, placing his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, "Your assistance was very kind, but please ensure it is desired on the next occasion - should there be one."

"Aye Captain," Smee nodded, nervous sweat beading his forehead. "Duly noted."

"Come on," Killian continued, gesturing for them to continue, "They'll not long be after me, I suppose."

They ran for the wall. Killian mental crossed this kingdom off the list of debts he had tallied. He had not anticipated returning his spoils would be so hard. It wasn't a huge list - generally he had avoided royal ships and tended to plunder merchant vessels whose trade was barely more legal than his own. Yet, even with the seal of King David at his disposal, very few were willing to consider the possibility of a reformed pirate.

And as the two made their final escape over the crenellations, and from there back towards the Jolly, Killian couldn't help but wonder if he could ever be redeemed. For it seemed, even when he tried, he was doomed to failure of some kind.

/

"We have waited long enough David, we must do something!"

Snow's panicked voice rang out through the library. Emma paused at the door, just about to enter, gesturing for her ever present guardsman to stand back.

"I know. I know. But the question is _what_?"

"It's been a month since we know he last breached our castle's defenses. There was only one lost life on that occasion, but what of the next time? We have to protect our people, our servants, our _daughter."_

Clearing her throat, Emma chose this moment to enter the room. Her parents started and turned in her direction as she swung the heavy oak door closed behind her.

"Emma…" he father began, offering a smile that evaded his eyes. "Did you…?"

She nodded and her parents exchanged a glance. "Mother, Father… It has been weeks and we have done nothing. I've confined myself to this wing of the house, two guards escort me everywhere I go-" she sighed and shook her head. "This is no way to live. Waiting, endlessly for something that may or may not come."

"You're right," her mother agreed as she approached her, tears sparkling at the corner of her eyes as she held out her hands. "We can't expect to continue this way indefinitely."

Emma tightened her fingers around her mother's, feeling the sharp stone of her wedding ring digging into her palm.

"There is only one solution," Snow announced, locking eyes with her daughter. "We must track Blackbeard down. And when we find him-" she pursed her mouth and dropped her eyes to the floor, "-he must be killed."

"Snow, we discussed this, remember, we decided it was too risky-"

Snow spun around and faced her husband. "No David, you did. And as king, we are bound to follow you. But as your wife…" her voice trailed off, the word wife seeming to stick in her throat. Emma looked furtively from man to woman. So long and still no resolution, the pair living apart but together. It hadn't helped matters that the threat to the castle had kept Anya away even longer after her father recovered. Emma was beginning to fear the matter may never be resolved.

Snow shook her head, her long tumbling hair billowing down her back as she did. Since returning, she had traded leather breeches for courtly dress, but her hair remained wild and untamed, perhaps as testament to her past life. "I mean, as king, your word stands. But perhaps some counsel would be advisable."

Releasing her daughter's hands, Snow walked over to the fireplace, passing the small table where David and Emma's current game of chess was lain out, ready for the next moves.

"You know I have always valued your opinion, Snow."

She was staring at the mirror now. Emma watched her tuck a stray stand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was pale, even more so than usual, and the lines of worry on her forehead seemed to deepen by the day. "Then listen to my petition. I suggest we send a boat - the fastest that can be chartered. With your best, most loyal, men aboard. They will track down this pirate."

"What about Killian-" Emma suggested, but her father silenced her with a glance.

"The Captain ought to be kept out of this, sweetheart," her mother insisted as she turned around, "If Blackbeard hasn't changed, he will have eyes and ears everywhere. We need to be exceptionally discreet."

As if on cue, the scar on Emma's arm smarted. She winced, wrinkling her nose as she agreed. _Yes, eyes and ears everywhere. _

The almost-queen then slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt. "And I have one more request. I must coordinate the search. It is my fault, and mine alone, that we are in this situation. And as such, I am responsible for resolving it. If only I hadn't-"

Snow's body began to shake with gentle sobs, the guilt of her involvement in the events that had led to Blackbeard's vendetta clearly overwhelming her. Emma sighed and bit her lip, the constant ache that had held captive her heart, multiplying at the sight of her mother's sorrow.

If only she knew…

But Emma was aware that revealing Blackbeard's true desires was a futile and dangerous endeavor. She alone held the key to resolving this matter.

"Then I must go too," Emma insisted, "For if you are guilty of any misdeeds, I am equally so."

"No!" screamed her mother, her sad eyes coming alive with fury, "Absolutely not. I lost you once, I will not lose you again-"

"But I'm more than capable-" Emma protested.

"You will stay here where you are safe, both of you, there will be no discussion on this matter," her father commanded. Emma winced, still becoming reaccustomed to acquiescing to the patriarchal ways of court life after months of freedom. She wanted to snap back - remind her father that she was capable of taking care of herself, that she was more than a weak female- But she held back. She knew her father's words were meant in a loving way and that he still saw her as the innocent princess she perhaps never was.

She longed to show him how much she had changed and grown. To share her stories and experiences. But the timing had never seemed right. She knew this was a battle to fight another day.

Slowly, she nodded, "Of course Father. I understand."

"I need to think over this matter. Would you please ask for my dinner to be served here, I anticipate much thought will be required. I thank both of you for your frankness with me. But, you understand, the decision lies with me alone, as king."

"Of course," Snow nodded, "Take as long as you need. But remember, the clock is ticking. The longer we wait, the more difficult it may be to find him.

/

Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes like hours. The ticking of the mantle clock was as tortuously slow as could be expected when one is waiting for something.

In this case, Emma was waiting for what the servants were want to call 'the witching hour.' For at midnight, the bells of the chapel would signal that the castle was at rest and then she could carry out her hastily made plans.

Well, perhaps not quite so hasty. She had been filling a purse with coins for some time now. The purse was secreted in the chest at the foot of her bed, wrapped in the riding breeches that were not needed with her current confinement and the heavy guard's cloak that she had swiped from the officers' mess, after a lively game of dice (that she had of course won).

And there was the matter of the root of valerian that she secreted from the medicinal gardens. That with which she had distilled into a potent sleeping draught with the help of a dusty text from the library and some misappropriated utensils from the kitchen's small brewery.

She felt a small jolt of guilt at having tricked her night guardsmen into consuming the potion within tankards of warm cider, but the sensation was short lived. Needs must, she told herself.

Finally, the dull sound of the cast iron bell echoed across the castle grounds. Sliding from her bed, she passed into the corridor between the two rooms of her chambers and to the door where her guards stood sentry. Peeking outside, she was relieved to see the two men slumped together on the floor, snoring softly. The dosage of valerian had been an educated guess, not knowing the final strength of the potion she had formulated.

The first part of her plan a success, she dashed back to her room and quickly pulled on the clothes she had prepared before pulling her now shoulder-length locks back from her face and securing it with a length of black ribbon.

As peculiar sense of deja-vu overcame her as she stared back at her reflection. It wasn't Emma looking at her. It was Jack. Her alter ego was once again needed. She pulled at the frilled neck of her shirt. It was so very strange and for a moment she doubted herself. Never, when she had returned to the Enchanted Forest, had she anticipated needing to leave again under such circumstances.

Shaking away he fear, she turned back from the mirror. She collected the few items she needed for her journey- the purse was tied to her belt, the dagger Killian had insisted she keep was secured in her riding boot. Slipping the cloak around her shoulders, she fastened the heavy, metal clasp. Cocooned in the course wool, she felt a renewed vigor.

Killian needed her. Her family needed her. Blackbeard's threats rung in her ears.

It was time for action. She could do this, for if she failed…

Slipping out her room, Emma closed her eyes and swallowed deeply.

_Have courage,_ she told herself. _Their safety is in your hands._

* * *

**A/N: I love my cliffhangers. I have the next chapter in my head, I will get it to you asap (certainly much quicker than this one!). Your feedback, comments and reviews are always massively appreciated and do fuel me on, so if you have the time to tell me what you think, I would really appreciate it. J x**


	5. Letters

_Emma_

_I can scarcely believe that almost 100 days have passed since our parting. I had prayed that fair winds would mean that by now we would be reunited, but alas fate had a different plan._

_Thankfully, the storms that had heeded my progress this far have now receded and within the next week I will dock at Grangetown. From there I will travel by horseback and pay my debt to King Alasdair's kingdom. The Jolly's hold now bears the jewels and coin that she once took from your father's allies. I hope that within a month I will have returned the bulk of the value, and perhaps from this receive some absolution for my past misdeeds. I would do anything to be with you, my love. I can only dare to dream that this will be enough._

_But darling, you do not wish me to waste my ink telling you of matters that keep us apart. Instead, let me impress upon you that the ache which our separation has placed upon my heart is at times suffocating. I will admit, my love, that I had not anticipated it. Never has my body, heart and soul ever felt such longing for another. There have been moments when I have felt that I could not take another breath without seeing your face. You are the very air I need to fill my lungs, dear Emma._

_For now, I sate myself with dreams of your emerald eyes and golden hair; with hopes that soon I will hold you in my arms and from thenceforth never, ever be without you. Rest assured, my love, that you have given me more reason and purpose that I have possessed in my wretched life so far. And if you will allow it, I will spend the remaining years that I am blessed with proving my worth._

_With endless love,_

_Yours_

_Killian_

Her heartbeat was surely loud enough to be heard. Taking a deep breath, Emma waited at the top of the spiral staircase that led down towards the kitchen. She could hear nothing. No voices, or footsteps.

There was a dim light emanating from below. She knew it was the dying embers of the hearth that the cook had left after retiring for the night. The past few weeks had been spent learning the finer details of the castle's routines, either by sight or by casual questions to her attendants. Enough to plan a route to leave undetected.

Of course, she had hoped and prayed that by some miracle an alternative solution would come to her. But, she could not risk her family's safety and she had waited long enough. Blackbeard's warnings rang in her ears: she needed to find Killian, fast. And then…well, she would worry about what happened next, later.

With light, careful footsteps, she made her way down the worn, stone staircase. There was no bannister to guide her way, and the steps dipped in the middle - a testament to their centuries of use. It was not often that she used the servants routes to move around the castle, so she ran her hands along the cylindrical wall as she went, being careful not to misstep and tumble, for surely then she would be discovered.

It was a simple plan. Through the kitchen, into the herb garden; from there she would make her way out of one of the trade entrances to the castle grounds (with a key recently stolen from the large bunch that hung in the housekeeper's office). She could hike through the woods overnight, perhaps even reach the docks by the next afternoon. The coin purse she would use to barter passage on a vessel, bounced against her hip as she moved.

As she hurried down the last few steps, she briefly lamented leaving her father again. He would worry, it was only natural. But she slipped her hand into her pocket and her fingers grasped Killian's last letter. She had no choice. She must go to Grangetown. If she didn't-

No. She wouldn't think of that.

At the foot of the staircase, she paused once more. The entrance to the kitchen was to her left, through a wide, stone archway and the corridor led further into the darkness, where the grain and vegetable stores were kept. But the air was still quiet and static- she was alone.

A few furtive steps later, and she entered the kitchen-

"What are you doing?"

Her heartbeat skipped, pausing a second before being chased by a dull thud as the voice threaded through her body. Slowly, she turned towards the fireplace, from where the sound came. But she knew who it was before she saw the face-

"Father…" she began, her voice faltering as the sure consequences of her discovery hit. "I, um, was hungry…" she lied, not meeting his eyes.

He father nodded briefly. He had one hand on the mantel piece, the other thumb tucked in his belt. "Interesting choice of outfit."

"I…"

Her shoulders sagged.

"Is there any way I can convince you not to do this?"

Emma's mouth dropped open at her father's words. He took a step closer to her, folding his arms, a crease of concern in his brow. She shook her head.

"I have to go, Father."

He nodded again before waking the long table that spanned the length of the kitchen and perching on its edge. "You know, it seems like only moments ago you were no taller than my hip. Playing in the gardens. Begging me to take you riding-"

"Father-"

"I'm a selfish man, Emma. Most expected you to have started your own household as soon as you came of age. But I kept you close. I didn't want to lose you. You were all-" He closed his eyes for a second, "All I had. All I had left."

"Daddy, you are the best father I could ask for. But…" her eyes darted from his.

"But, I can't expect to keep you forever, not by my side, I mean. And I can't pretend you are still a child."

"I'm still your girl," she promised. Emma stood closer and picked up her father's hand, holding it to her cheek.

"You've changed so much, sweetheart, in the months you were away."

"Have I?" she whispered, lowering her head.

David smiled and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I always knew you took after your mother. But I never really thought what that meant. You're like a bird, my dear. A beautiful, strong bird. And here I try and cage you in. But that would never make you happy."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Your happiness is my happiness. But I need to keep my people safe. If you are determined to track down this pirate and end this cloud that hangs over the castle, then I will come with you."

Confusion clouded Emma's face. "But Father, what about the kingdom, and Mother and Anya-"

"I am first and foremost, your father. Honor is important to me. Doing the best for my kingdom has always been foremost in my mind. So for once, I will put you first."

"Father, are you sure? It could be dangerous, and the kingdom needs you-"

Staring deep into her green eyes, he nodded. "I've lived my life these past decades in duty to my kingdom. But this moment- this moment I give to you and our family."

Emma pressed her lips together as she nodded. She didn't know whether this was a good idea. The last thing she wanted was her father to be in any danger. But she couldn't deny his words had touched her heart. For all she had known her father's love her whole life this was the first time when she had really seen him as a father first and a king second.

Still dazed from the conversation, she listened as her father gave her instructions to wait while he settled some affairs. David left the kitchen, leaving Emma watching the dying embers of the fire. A shiver took hold as the glowing wood faded to charcoal.

"Captain, you're back!"

Killian nodded a welcome at the crewman who called at him from the rigging. The Jolly was docked where he had left her, anchor dropped and sails tied away. The first light of the day was just peeking over the horizon, silhouetting the ship against the amber horizon. He took a deep breath, admiring the vessel that he had called home for so long.

A few minutes later, he was aboard, listening as lists of cargo were reeled off. But his mind was elsewhere. After giving a few brief instructions for the ship to be made ready to sail, he headed towards his cabin. Before he entered, his heart raced in anticipation.

He hoped it would be there, on his desk. He hoped it would be waiting for him, it had been too long since he had heard from her.

And there it was, crisp parchment, sealed with red wax, imprinted with a curving 'E'. Tossing his coat and belt aside, he sank onto his chair and broke the seal, eagerly devouring her words.

_My Killian_

_You must not understand the fervor that grips me upon receiving one of your precious letters. I must confess, I have never been one to keep a regular correspondence. Yet here I find myself impatiently waiting each morning to see if a courier arrives, more often than not I am disappointed. But dearest, do not feel that my disappointment is some failure on your part, instead it is merely a consequence of my impatient desire to have you back again by my side. For this is where you belong, beside me._

_As I write I sit upon my balcony and look out across the forest from whence our kingdom receives its name. In the distance, I can see the barest hint of azure. This mere glimpse of the sea gives me comfort, for I know somewhere upon those waters your ship sails and brings you closer to me with each day. _

_I will admit to you, that life is trying here at the moment. Recent days have seen little opportunity to venture beyond the castle walls. Instead I have bided my time rereading your portion of our correspondence. I caress the form of each word, as though it is you that I touch. I breathe in the scent of the parchment: perhaps it is wishful thinking that I detect a trace of you upon the page (I choose to think otherwise)._

_Be safe, my love. For you are as much a part of me now as my heart or my lungs. Life without you is bleak, for all I know that our separation is temporary._

_So make haste, dearest Killian. Sail fast, avoid the dangers that I know lurk upon the seas. Come back to me, Killian. For without you, I am naught._

_With deepest affection,_

_Your Emma_

Pressing the letter against his heart, Killian mumbled to himself, "I am yours, my love, as you are mine."

Snow awoke earlier than usual. It was strange, for it was not a bright morning, where the early sun could take credit for her wakening. Instead, it was rather a general unsettled feeling in her stomach that she couldn't quite place.

Thinking that perhaps a glass of water would sate her uncertain ache, she swung her feet onto the floor and walked to her nightstand. But before she reached it, her eyes were drawn to something that had been slipped under her door. A letter.

Curiosity burning, she made quick steps towards it, picking it up and instantly recognizing the hand that had printed 'Snow' on the parchment.

"David," she whispered, confused, as she unfolded the letter, eyes drinking in the words, holding her breath as she read.

_Snow_

_I hate to give you such news in this manner, but as this matter stands I have no choice._

_Emma and I have left to find Blackbeard. Please, before I continue, I must ask you to keep this matter secret. I have left word to the staff that we have gone to visit Anya at her father's kingdom. A pale ruse, I know, but it should suffice._

_You asked me to listen to your counsel and you are right. We must deal with this threat now before it rips our family - and our kingdom - apart. It appears our daughter has inherited your strong headed nature and she insists on being the one to make the journey. I know you understand that there is no arguing with her on this point. So I will make the journey with her, both as her protector and her father. For though I am king, I am a father first._

_On this note, I leave you in charge of the kingdom. I understand that you may be angry with me. God knows, you have many reasons to be. But be assured, I will bring your daughter back safely and I will protect this family._

_I will send more word as soon as I can. Please understand, this action is for us. All of us._

_Yours_

_David_

* * *

**A/N**

**Just a baby chapter :)**

**If you have time to leave a review, I really appreciate it. It means a lot. J x**


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